


Scaredy-Cat

by Octinary



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort, Foster Care, Found Family, Gen, Ghost Stories, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Parenthood, Pre-Relationship, Puppets, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octinary/pseuds/Octinary
Summary: While searching the basement of Jaskier's theater for a Halloween costume for Ciri, Geralt is forced to face his deepest, darkest fear -puppetsfailing as a parent.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 19
Kudos: 72
Collections: The Modern Witcher AU Collection, The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #009





	Scaredy-Cat

**Author's Note:**

> While the fics were anonymous for the Flash Fic Challenge, this was guessed as my submission with 71% accuracy, so apparently despite it being my first AU is it very quintessentially me.

Geralt did not scream, but, as his very best friend in the whole wide world, Jaskier could tell that it was a close run thing. The blood drained from his face, his eyes went wide and his hands twitched with the instinctive need to grab Ciri and pull her away from the danger, but the young girl was already eight steps ahead and out of his grasp. Unable to physically force himself forward, all he could do was clench his jaw as his fingernails bit into his palms and wait to see how this interaction played out.

Jaskier clapped a hand on his shoulder in solidarity. Geralt was far from the first person he had seen falter in front of this display.

Ciri, swallowing audibly, reached out tentatively with one hand as she approached. “Oh my God…” She whispered, and touched the first figure gently. Immediately, she pulled her hand back as if it had burned her and whirled back around to face Jaskier, long unbound hair displacing the dust of the room, green eyes wide and mouth parted in a soft ‘oh’. “Can I?”

Jaskier licked his dry lips and nodded. He could feel Geralt tense under his hand as she turned back to the wall.

“They are so,” with reverence she removed one from its hook, holding it carefully and staring at it in wonder as if it were an item of great power, “so cute! Oh, wow!” In a flash the moment was broken and the freshly feted thirteen year-old was bouncing back to her legal guardian of a whole six months now, prize in hand. “Geralt, look!”

Jaskier knew that for a very long time his friend had wanted nothing more in this life than to be a foster parent. There were no words to describe the level of respect and admiration Geralt had for his own foster father, Vesemir, who had taken him in when, without any explanation, his mother had abandoned him at a police station when he was only three years old and disappeared into the night. Despite never formally adopting any of them, Vesemir had nevertheless raised Geralt, Eskel (who had come along two years later when his parents had died in the car crash that had scarred him so badly) and Lambert (who arrived five years after that when the law had finally put away his abusive father for good) as his own and as well as anyone could have. And the moral code that he had instilled in Geralt meant that he felt the best way to repay that wealth of kindness was to pay it forward. Finally established enough to apply for the program, twice-orphaned (her parents, then her grandparents) Cirillia was placed in his care last April. Twelve at the time, everyone knew her chances of being adopted were next to non-existent. Jaskier had gone with Geralt for moral support when he had picked her up, and he could still remember the conviction in his friend’s eyes when the social worker had asked if Geralt was sure he was willing to be in this for the long haul. At that time, Geralt hadn't flinched for a second. Now, despite all of that - Geralt’s determination, resilience and unwavering dedication to the duty of care he had been given - Jaskier would have bet the rest of his small theater’s revenue that year that the only reason Geralt didn’t bolt right out of the building and abandon Ciri to the puppets was Jaskier's solid hand on his shoulder rooting him in place.

“Look! It’s so delicate! And precious! And it has such a cute little pumpkin face!” Elated, Ciri displayed the doll to the both of them and while it did have a little pumpkin face, ‘cute’ was very much in the eye of the beholder. “Oh! And there’s a raccoon!” She tried to pass the puppet off to Geralt, who was still frozen, but she didn’t seem to notice that it was Jaskier who took it from her as she scampered back to the wall to liberate the raccoon from where it was hanging. “Aw! And a turnip clown! It’s so sweet!”

“Sweet?” Geralt finally managed to croak out.

“Evidently.” Having turned to Jaskier when he spoke, Geralt caught sight of the monstrosity in Jaskier’s hands again and flinched away. A consummate professional of the dramatic persuasion, Jaskier was able to school his face and not smirk at his friend. “They’re from a production we did for Halloween, oh, about a decade ago or so I think.” He joined the still enraptured Ciri at the wall of marionettes. “I wasn’t actually a part of that one; I’d just joined the company. I wasn’t even a major player at that time, let alone a stakeholder. I think the show was about fairy tales? To be honest, I don’t rightly remember the plot of the play, but,” he let his eyes flash mischievously in the sad light from the single bare bulb in that room of the prop storage basement, “I will never forget the day these dolls arrived here. I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt rumbled.

“Oh! What happened? Tell me!” In contrast to her foster father, Ciri seemed delighted at the prospect of a spooky story.

Jaskier, utterly incapable of not pandering to an attentive audience, ignored the rumbled warning. “They were bequeathed to the theater by the man who made them: a master puppet maker named Geppetto.”

“Jaskier, I’m serious. You can’t just-” Geralt’s brow wrinkled. “Wait, isn’t that the woodcarver from Pinocch-”

Keeping eye contact with Ciri, Jaskier waved noncommittally at Geralt and continued. “Now see, he had had a young son who had, very tragically, passed away. But Gepetto knew that the souls of the newly dead could be tempted back to the world of the living by an appropriate vessel. So he started carving…”

He left a dramatic pause as Ciri giggled, but the moment was interrupted by Geralt. “That’s enough, Jaskier. Don't-”

“But the thing is," Jaskier continued quickly, focus still fully on Ciri, "when you’re making vessels, you can never be sure what… exactly… is… coming… to… fill… them…” Manipulating its strings, he walked the pumpkin headed doll, step by tantalizing step closer to the bright eyed girl. “And they say every single one of Gepetto’s puppets has a soul. A soul that wants to be human again.”

“Jaskier!”

“Every one?’ Ciri was clutching the raccoon tightly and her eyes were wide, but she was still smiling. To Jaskier, she still seemed more intrigued than scared, so he continued.

“And on All Hallow’s Eve, they creep off of their hooks, dragging their strings behind them and-”

“You can’t tell stories like that to a kid!”

“I’m thirteen!” The stubborn pout Ciri put on in response to Geralt's protestations had very quickly become the girl’s most familiar expression. She had a will of iron. Unfortunately for her, (or perhaps in the long run, fortunately), Geralt was at least twice as stubborn as that.

He crossed his arms and set his own jaw. “The last thing you want at your Halloween sleepover party tonight is nightmares, so let’s just find you a costume that Jaskier is okay with you borrowing and get out of here.”

Jaskier recognized the expression on Geralt’s face, not because he had ever seen it on his friend before, but because he had seen it on his own father at least a thousand times. It was a look that was going to start with ‘No child of mine’ and was going to end with a fight. “Come on,” Jaskier preemptively pleaded on the girl’s behalf. “She seemed to like the story. What’s the harm?”

“You,” flustered by the unexpected betrayal, Geralt floundered. “You don’t get a vote in this!”

“Yennefer lets me hear scary stories.” Ciri crossed her arms in defiance. Poses now mirrored, in the dim light you could almost swear they were actually blood related.

“Yennefer lets you what?” Geralt’s voice was considerably higher than his natural rumbling bass.

“She doesn’t treat me like I’m a kid. And she’s known me longer than you!” Ciri turned back to Jaskier expectantly and in blatant rebellion. “So what happened next?”

“Well, um, uh…” Jaskier’s desire to undermine Geralt’s authority had evaporated at the mention of the violet eyed woman. She was Ciri’s Big Sister, had been since her parents’ death years ago, and was Geralt’s biggest rival for the title of Ciri’s ultimate authority figure. Yennefer and Geralt had, unfortunately, not got off to a great start when they first met, a situation Jaskier felt was only further exacerbated by his friend’s utter inability to recognize when someone was trying to flirt with him. Heaven knows he never once picked up on any of the signals Jaskier continued to loudly broadcast - he saw no reason why the ever alluring Yennefer should have any better luck. Slightly miffed at what she perceived as his rejection of her, but at the same time still obviously attracted to him, Yennefer took great pleasure in pushing Geralt's buttons. Jaskier's too, come to think of it. Frankly, at this point in time, Jaskier gave it even odds on the two of them, either eventually figuring it out, getting married and living happily ever after, or killing each other. Until that was decided though, he knew Geralt needed all the help he could get. Especially since in the eyes of a budding teenage girl, Yennefer, with her sleek black outfits, motorcycle and circle of powerful female friends, was undeniably cool while Geralt… well… Geralt's aesthetic was more faded t-shirts from old bands, he either walked or took public transportation everywhere and his best (only) friend co-owned the local community theater. Let’s just say it wasn’t much of a competition. “Uh, on All Hallow’s Eve they all have a party, a great dance to celebrate how happy they are as a big family,” he finished lamely.

Unmistakably unimpressed, Ciri just rolled her eyes and channeled her mentor. “Pathetic.” She tossed the raccoon puppet to Jaskier, interest turned to apathy in her frustration.

“Hey,” he set both dolls on a nearby table and reached into his pocket, “would a lame person give you the key to the costume closet?” He dangled the old key before her.

With the barest hint of a smile, she snatched it from him and took off for the locked door down the hall past the racks of props and potentially cursed puppets. Confident that there was nothing in there that she could harm, Jaskier turned back to Geralt to see him standing, defeated, face in his hands. “So.” He strolled over casually. “Not a big fan of ghost stories, I take it?”

Geralt shook his head. “No, it’s not that. You’re the one who clung to me all through that stupid haunted house you wanted to go to, remember? It’s just-”

When no end to the sentence seemed to be forthcoming, Jaskier finally prodded gently, “Just?”

Geralt sighed. “I knew it was going to be hard. I knew it. But I didn’t know it would be so- God, Jaskier, there is so much out there that can hurt her! And I can feed her and clothe her and care for her, but more than anything I want to protect her. And I know- I know I can’t. Not from everything. But damn it all, there are enough real threats out there I have to tackle, without you making me fight ghosts as well!”

Jaskier could have said that Geralt was already fighting Ciri’s ghosts; that he was fighting them every night he sat up with her after a nightmare, every time he refused to walk away from her no matter what kind of tantrum she was throwing, every day he swallowed his pride and asked Yennefer for help when he saw that she was what Ciri needed in that moment. And he could have said that Geralt didn’t need to fight Ciri’s ghosts. After all, Vesemir never fought his foster sons’ monsters on their behalf; he just equipped them as best he could with self-worth and confidence and unwavering support and then turned them loose to defeat their demons of abandonment and alienation and abuse all on their own. And he could have said that there were no such things as ghosts. He had spent enough time working on himself after his parents threw him out to wholeheartedly believe there was nothing supernatural or mystical about healing; it was just determination and perseverance and a lot of hard fucking work. But this was Geralt, a man he knew better than he knew himself, so what he ultimately did say was, “Yeah, no, that’s not it. You’re just scared of dolls, aren’t you?”

“They have dead little eyes, Jaskier!”

Unable to respond in any coherent fashion because he was laughing too hard, Jaskier just knocked his forehead into Geralt’s chest, wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed him comfortingly.

“Oh fuck. What am I going to do if she wants one? Can you tell her they are really expensive and the theater could never let them go? I know you don’t like being the bad guy, but I swear to God I will never sleep again with one of those in the house.”

“I think you'll be okay. I’m pretty sure thirteen is a little old for dolls, love.”

“But what if-”

“Geralt, you have to see this!” Ciri darted back, high boots pulled over her jeans, leather vest laced over her long sleeved t-shirt, hair bundled up under a cowl and wielding a two handed sword. Her earlier anger was clearly forgotten in the joy of her cobbled together costume. “Look at all this cool stuff!”

“And what are you supposed to be?” Jaskier had moved to disengage from the embrace, but Geralt seemed content to hold him in place; whether that was because he was actually enjoying the hug or just forcefully trying to keep another body between himself and the wall of marionettes was anyone’s guess.

“A monster hunter!” She beamed. “You have to see all the cool stuff that Jaskier has back there! There’s armour and dresses and weapons and crowns and a dragon!”

Always ready to seize the opportunity to kidnap another young mind to his cause, Jaskier pounced. “You know, if you wanted to dress up more, you’re absolutely welcome to participate in some of our plays. We can make you up into anything you’d like.”

“Can I?” Ciri’s eyes darted hopefully to Geralt.

Geralt smirked. Maybe best friend to the co-owner of the local community theater wasn’t so uncool after all. “Of course. But we better get going now. We’re supposed to have you at Yen’s by six for dinner so she can get you to your party on time.”

“Mm-hmm.” As she bounced up the stairs out of the basement and into the theater proper, Geralt turned to follow her, but then looked back at Jaskier.

“You coming?”

“I have a sneaky suspicion there is a mess in the costume closet that requires my attention.” Geralt nodded and turned to go. “Geralt.” Jaskier waited until he had the man’s full attention again. “You know you’re going to do just fine right? Wonderful, in fact.”

“Hm.” He took a deep breath in, closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, before responding further. “I know I’m going to try.”

“And you know we’re all here to help too, right? Me, Yennefer, Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert. It takes a village and all that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. “Thanks for offering to let her hang out with you here. I think maybe,” if Jaskier didn’t know better he would say Geralt was blushing, “maybe stories are a good way to fight ghosts.”

Jaskier wanted desperately to hug him again, but recognized all the signs of Geralt reaching his limit on sappiness for one day. “You’re not going to go all sullen and withdrawn just because I saw you scared are you?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t scared.”

“You were terrified, my friend. Petrified even.”

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t find those things a little bit creepy.”

Of course he did, but like hell he was going to admit that out loud when he finally had something to hold over his normally unfazeable friend’s head. “Please. They’re just props. What's there to be frightened of?”

“Bullshit. I don’t believe for one second that-”

“Geralt!” Ciri yelled from the top of the stairs. “Hurry up! If we’re late, Yen is going to be mad at you!”

“I know, I know! I’m coming!”

“Jaskier too! I texted and asked and Yen said to bring him to dinner too!”

“I can’t, sweetling! I have to clean up the costumes down here and put...” Jaskier turned to gesture to the rack of puppets and something caught his eye, “...away…” they’d taken two off of their hooks, the raccoon and the pumpkin, “...the…” and he knew that he’d put them on the table, “...dolls,” but now they, and two others, were on the floor. On the floor a good two or three feet away from the rack. On the floor only a few scant feet away from them. Geralt and Jaskier locked eyes.

“What’s keeping you? Come on!”

When, with an eerie creak, the fifth puppet fell from its hook, both Jaskier and Geralt were up the stairs and back into the light of day before the damned thing even hit the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Ciri dressed as her older self from Witcher 3 for Halloween.
> 
> Also, apologies if you found Geralt a little too OOC in this - I mean it is an AU, but he just seems to have wandered further off base than I was intending him to.
> 
> I'm also on tumblr if you want to talk to me or check out the other guessing statistics for the Flash Fic Challenge: [octinary.tumblr.com](https://octinary.tumblr.com)


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